“Bills, sure, what’s the good of keepin’ bills, sor, when the money’s paid. I b’lave they’re somewhere in an ould crock in the stable, at laste that’s where I saw thim last.”
“Well,” said Pinckney, “you can fetch them for me to-morrow morning, and now let’s talk about the garden.”
Rafferty, not knowing what Pinckney might discover and so being unable to lie with confidence, had a very bad quarter of an hour over the garden.
Pinckney was not a man to press another unduly, nor was he a man to haggle about halfpence or worry servants over small peccadillos. He knew quite well that grooms are grooms, and will be so as long as men are men. He would never have bothered about little details had Rafferty been an ordinary servant. He recognised in Rafferty, not a servant to be dismissed or corrected, but an antagonist to be fought. It was the case of the dog and badger. Rafferty was Graft and all it implies, Pinckney was Straight Dealing. And Straight Dealing knew quite well that the only way to get Graft by the throat is to ferret out details, no matter how small.
So Rafferty was taken over details. He had to admit that he had “given away” some of the stuff from the garden and sold “a bit,” sending it up to Dublin for that purpose; but he was not to be caught.
“And the profits,” said Pinckney. “I suppose you handed them over to Mr. Berknowles?”
“No, sor; the master always tould me to keep any bit of money I might draa from anything I planted extra for me perkisites, that was the understandin’ I had with him.”
“And over the farmyard, I suppose anything you could make by selling any extra animals you planted was your perquisite?”
“Yes, sor.”
“Very well, Rafferty, that will do for to-night; get me those receipted bills to-morrow morning. Come here at ten o’clock and we will have another talk.”